CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
April 17 2001
To John, the time he spent in the hospital seemed like an eternity instead of two weeks. The doctor did not think he could make it. The bullet had entered near his heart and excited through his spine. The prognosis was not good..
In the movies, he would have survived, the bullet hitting either Rachel or Jarod and he would be going home after an interview by the press. Yes, he thought, the Black guy always survives. But then again, this was not the Movies. He was not the lone man who was incorruptible and he certainly did not have a wife and children to go home to. In fact, it was lucky if he ever had children. The doctors had told him the damage.
"Not walking is the least of your problems. You can see by this x-ray, that the bullet has severed your nerve among other things. If it were above your waist, you could have an erection, but…" and there was the shaking of their heads.
Not only would he be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, his chance for children if he did marry was nil. It was ironic. John had been careful, not going to parties with his friends, not visiting prostitutes. He had a clean bill of health. He started going down a sea of regrets. If he had married his girl friend, if he had t taken his American citizenship, if he had not quit the Kenyan police force—such were the choices he should have made.
The members of the VCTF were there with the usual flowers and doughnuts much to the disapproval of the nurse. Even that agent Wilkes was there, keeping in the background.
"I suppose that means I'm out of the FBI for good," said John.
"This comes from being too full of bravado," said Bailey, "and watching too many movies. I saw your collection. I talked to your chief, you're getting full disability and a chance at a desk job."
"Who shot me anyway?"
"The man who introduced you to this Isaiah. Boasted about it."
"What was his name?"
"Clarence. About six feet four inches and clean shaven. Wore glasses."
John tried to imagine this Clarence. Matthew was distinctive but he could not recall Clarence who was an ordinary, myopic looking man with the disarming smile. He tried to put a face to Isaiah's comrades, most of which looked like ordinary Kenyans. Two of them wore glasses and both had a close resemblance. He wondered whether Clarence's glasses were fake or was it the other one? "Funny I don't remember him."
"Yes," said Bailey, "I suppose you'll get back to your family now that you can no longer be in the field."
John shook his head. "I had now it's just mother and me. I was planning to settle her in America and earn enough money so I could send for her. She's in her fifties. You might think that's still young, but back where I came from, she's an old woman. Now instead of me taking care of her, she'll have to take care of me."
He thought of this long and hard, even when they pinned the medal on him, put his name on a plaque. After he recovered from his convalescence, he wrote to his mother, withdrew all his savings, and sent for her, knowing that his girl friend, a nurse, would come with her. They married as soon as they arrived and started on the long process of trying to adopt a child.